The Seven Deadly Hangovers
by Sue
Summary: The men of the Magnificent Seven struggle to recover from Buck's particularly raucous New Year's Eve party.


TITLE: The Seven Deadly Hangovers  
AUTHOR: Sue B.  
EMAIL: DelanySis1@aol.com-feedback greatly apreciated!  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters from the television program The Magnificent Seven are the property of CBS, MGM, Trilogy and The Mirisch Co. I am making no money from their use.  
  
NOTES/COMMENTS: Just a little fun for the New Year holidays. Hope you enjoy it!  
  
  


THE SEVEN DEADLY HANGOVERS  
  


  
Chris Larabee woke up, and in ten seconds had already decided what he was going to do that day.  
  
He was going to kill Buck Wilmington.  
  
After all, the gunslinger reasoned blearily as he rolled over very slowly in his rumpled bed, it had been Buck's brilliant idea to have a New Year's Eve party. Gotta ring in the New Year right, he had said. Everybody survived, that's gotta call for some celebratin', he said. And like an idiot, Chris had agreed, and attended, and like the other six men he worked with in protecting the small frontier town of Four Corners, had gotten thoroughly and completely plastered.  
  
Now here he was, squinting painfully against the New Year sun, his head pounding like the cannons of Gettysburg, his mouth as dry as the desert just outside of town and tasting just as bad, his every nerve sensitive to the slightest jostling. He thought about getting up and trying to block out that damned sun, but that would mean actually having to stand, and he wasn't quite sure he was ready for that yet.  
  
Chris very slowly and carefully reached over and picked up his pocketwatch to check the time. Opening his eye only enough to make out the timepiece's face, he saw that it was almost ten o'clock, and he groaned aloud as his head split in half. Or maybe it just felt like it, he wasn't sure.  
  
As Chris gently replaced the watch and buried his aching face in his pillow, he tried to reconstruct the events of the previous evening. It had been a pretty good time at first, they'd all played poker, barely keeping track of the winnings and losings, just enjoying each other's company and Ezra's fine imported brandy brought in just for the occasion. Then it had been beer, and more poker, and whiskey, and JD and Buck arguing loudly over JD's bowler hat, and Josiah insisting on recounting some interesting (and slightly off-color) stories he'd heard while traveling through San Jacinto.   
  
Vin contributed by offering to recite the "filthiest poem I ever heard", courtesy of a missionary he had met while living with the Apaches; unfortunately he was too inebriated to remember anything about the poem except its remarkably offensive nature. JD had grown tired of arguing with Buck and was trying to see if he could toss his hat onto one of the chandelier's hooked arms. By the time midnight rolled around, the group was trying to separate Ezra and Buck who were coming close to blows over Buck's offhand suggestion that Ezra "sing in the New Year" with "that purty voice" of his. Not that anyone was in any real danger, as they were all now so drunk that they missed the coming of the new year completely. As the year's first hour drew to its close, the seven men finally staggered off to bed, Nathan leading the way with an unintelligible rendition of "Pop Goes the Weasel".  
  
Now here it was, the first morning of the second year of their association, and all Chris could think about was murdering Buck. Except that to do that he'd have to get up. Maybe Buck would be spared after all.  
  
It was almost noon by the time Chris managed to get himself upright; he tried not to look out the window as he slowly pulled on his clothes, every joint aching in protest. With minor difficulty he found his canteen and drained its entire contents, trying to dispel the horrible dryness in his mouth and throat; he felt as if he hadn't tasted water in weeks. He didn't bother to shave; it was New Year's Day and few people would be about anyway. And if anyone objected to the way he looked...well, just let them try to say anything. In this mood he felt he could face down Lee's army all over again and take every one of them down. His exploding head alone felt like it could destroy an entire regiment.  
  
With careful steps and aching body, Chris slowly made his way toward the saloon.  
  
  
There were, as he had supposed, few people out yet, and the men he met looked as if they were hung over too and paid no attention to Chris's haggard appearance. Chris tried to glare down anyone who looked like they might try to wish him a Happy New Year-he felt as if his ears would blow out if he actually had to hear someone talk-but even glaring at people was painful today. So he just walked along, head down, his throbbing eyes lifted only occasionally to make sure he didn't run into any posts.  
  
The saloon looked empty when Chris entered; it was dark and quiet, a thing for which Chris sincerely thanked God. Further inspection revealed the hunched form of Vin slouched at the corner table. He looked up at Chris' approach and didn't try to wave him away, so Chris very slowly sat down opposite him.  
  
"Hey," Vin said; his voice was normally little above a whisper, but today it was barely there at all. His hat was on the table, and his long brown hair was considerably awry. He nodded at Chris a little and went back to staring morosely at the steaming cup of black coffee in front of him.   
  
Chris nodded as he sat down and wearily rubbed his eyes. "Guess you survived last night, huh?" he rasped, wincing as his own words sliced through his brain.  
  
The tracker sighed and leaned forward on the table. "Reckon so, if you call this survival," he moaned, running one hand through his dark curls. "I feel like I done been trampled by a herd of buffalo an' hit by a train for good measure."  
  
"Hmmm." Chris replied, then glanced at the cup. "Coffee?"  
  
"Yup. There's some in the pot behind the counter."  
  
"Good," Chris muttered, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I'll have some later, after I kill Buck."  
  
Vin shot him a sharp look. "That's gonna be mighty hard. I'm gonna kill him myself."  
  
Chris sat up, scowling. "Tell you what. I'll kill Buck, and you can kill Ezra for providing the booze."  
  
"Oh, God," Vin groaned, dropping his head into his hands, "if I ever find out where he got that rotgut brandy..."  
  
Chris didn't reply, as he had just noticed JD's hat hanging on the chandelier.  
  
"Hey, Chris?"  
  
The gunslinger looked back at Vin, who was eying him with concern in his cloudy blue eyes.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Um-" Vin swallowed, and Chris realized he looked very nervous. "I'm thinkin', last night, that I said I was, uh, gonna recite this, um, poem I knew?"  
  
The memory worked its way through Chris's beer-fogged mind, and he nodded, despite the fierce pain the action caused. "Yep."  
  
"Uh-" Vin sat up a little and licked his lips, "I-I didn't actually recite it, did I?"  
  
Chris shook his head very gently. "If you did I don't remember it."  
  
The former bounty hunter heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, good! I was fearin' for JD's mind, there. That poem's a corker."  
  
Chris grinned. "Yeah?"  
  
A small smile danced on Vin's lips. "Well, it taught me a few things..."  
  
The saloon doors swung open, and Vin and Chris saw Buck walk in, very slowly and deliberately, straight to the coffee pot behind the bar. He noticed the two men watching him and gave them a nod as he fumbled for a cup.  
  
"Mornin'," he muttered in a deep, scratchy voice.  
  
"Buck," Chris replied, "just so you know, I'm planning to kill you."  
  
The other man did not seem at all perturbed by this as he carefully walked over to their table. "Well, now, Chris, that'd be right merciful of you," he mumbled as he sat down.  
  
"Gotta say, it was a hell of a party," Vin offered. Buck pulled his hat down over his eyes and glared at the tracker.  
  
"That party wasn't the hell, son, trust me," he replied, and took a swig of the coffee, grimacing at its bitterness. "Dang, that's bad."  
  
"It'll wake y'up," Chris consoled him, but this didn't seem to help.  
  
"Just what I want," Buck said as he rubbed one eye, "to be more aware of how miserable I am."  
  
The sound of a door softly opening and closing on the second floor of the saloon caught their attention; slow, careful footsteps were heard making their way down the hallway, the staircase, and finally into the saloon, as Ezra wove his way into view. He paused a moment to acknowledge the men who were staring at him, then helped himself to the coffee.  
  
"Gentlemen," he whispered painfully as he crept over to their table. They were astonished to see that, unlike themselves, Ezra was impeccably groomed; the only indications of his hung-over state were his reddened eyes and the fact that his jacket was inside-out.  
  
"Um, Ezra?" Buck began, but the gambler held up one well-manicured hand.  
  
"Please, Mr. Wilmington," he pleaded as he sank into his seat, "allow me to suffer in silence."  
  
Vin grunted as he sipped his coffee. "Serves you right for bringin' in that cheap hooch."  
  
Ezra shot him an insulted look. "I'll have you know-" he began angrily, wincing as his loud voice ripped his head apart. After a pause, he continued in a much softer tone, "I'll have you know, Mr. Tanner, that the liquor I supplied last night was from the finest house in New Orleans."  
  
Buck smiled tightly. "I didn't know they made booze there, too!"  
  
Ezra glared at the mustached gunslinger, then brought the coffee to his lips and glanced up at the chandelier. "Spare me your lewd mind, please...say, is that Mr. Dunne's hat?"  
  
Two more figures entered the bar and lurched over to the coffee.  
  
"Glad you're here, Josiah," Chris said as he recognized the larger shadow. "Might need some of those prayers for the dyin' you said you knew."  
  
"Sorry, Chris," Josiah replied in a slow voice as he handed Nathan the cup he had just poured and picked up another for himself, "Got my own funeral to plan."  
  
"Got any advice, Doc?" Vin asked the healer as Nathan made his way to a chair nearby.   
  
Nathan nodded carefully as he eased himself down. "Yeah, don't go to no more of Buck's parties."  
  
Buck snorted. "That was a right fine party, Nathan! I thought everybody had a plum good time."  
  
"Yes," Ezra muttered, "Mr. Sanchez's stories were quite enlightening."  
  
Josiah smiled a bit. "Not half as much as Vin's poem."  
  
"Oh, my God," Vin moaned and buried his head in his hands.  
  
Ezra frowned. "I don't recall any poem."  
  
Josiah hesitated a bit, then knit his brows. "Oh, wait–you didn't get to it, did you?"  
  
Vin sat up and sighed. "Trust me, Josiah, if I had you'd remember it."  
  
Nathan looked around. "Looks like JD's the last one in today."  
  
"He ain't gonna be here for a while," Buck said, shaking his head. "That boy was sicker'n a first-time sailor in a pitched storm."  
  
Chris winced and pinched his eyes as he felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly. "God, Buck, did you have to say that?"  
  
"He need some lookin' at?" Nathan asked as he downed the coffee.   
  
Buck chuckled. "Naw, he'll be fine. Reckon this is his first big hangover."  
  
"And us with no photographer to record the occasion," Ezra lamented, looking at his empty cup. "Is there any more coffee?"  
  
"Nope," Josiah replied.  
  
"Aw, dammit!" Chris spat. "I really could've used a cup."  
  
The sound of gunshots rent the air, causing all the men to moan slightly and look up in surprise. The men staggered quickly to their feet and drew their guns, desperately hoping they wouldn't have to shoot them as they piled into the street, groaning audibly at the bright sunlight.  
  
"Jeesh," Buck sighed, "couldn't this have waited til tonight?"  
  
Looking around they saw nothing but a cloud of dust disappearing into the hills, and a few townspeople running into the street. One of them saw the blinking group of lawmen and ran up, pointing wildly at the mountains.  
  
"Thieves!" he sputtered. "They just robbed the hotel!"  
  
Chris's shoulders drooped as he looked with disgust after the bandits. "God, this just isn't my day."  
  
"We don't got to go after them , do we?" Buck said hopefully, shielding his eyes against the painful glare of the sun. Chris sighed as he holstered his weapon, gave Buck a look, and began to trot towards the livery. The other men sighed, then followed. JD appeared, looking extremely pale and bleary, and gaped with confusion as his friends ran by.  
  
"What's goin' on?" he asked, running to catch up. Nathan looked at him.  
  
"Gotta catch some men who robbed the hotel. You OK?"  
  
JD swallowed, then hiccupped. "Nathan, I been throwin' up all mornin' an' my head hurts like hell. Every noise sounds like a cannon goin' off, too. And I can't find my hat."  
  
"I believe said chapeaux is dangling from the chandelier at the saloon," Ezra offered as he shielded his sensitive eyes from the bright winter sun.  
  
JD sighed as they reached the livery and began saddling their mounts. "Doggone it, Buck, what'd you go and do that for!"  
  
The gunslinger winced as JD's voice pierced his ears, and he shot the young sheriff an annoyed look. "First of all, JD, you yell like that again an' I'll tie your vocal chords into a knot for ya. Second, son, I didn't throw that dang thing up there. You did."  
  
JD stood still and blinked, straining to remember. "Oh. Um...oh. Sorry."  
  
Amid many groans, the horses were saddled up, and as the seven men rode out into the bright winter morning, they winced as one and turned their aching eyes to the ground, desperately trying to ease their throbbing heads.  
  
"You know," Chris said through gritted teeth as they headed for the hills, "this might not be so bad after all. I'm really in the perfect mood to hurt somebody."  
  
  
They spent most of the early afternoon tracking the thieves; the mission was slowed by Vin's blurry vision and JD's nagging nausea. It had been a snowless week, and the frozen ground yielded few clues; but somehow Vin's abilities remained sharp enough, even through his blinding hangover, to finally find the criminal's trail.  
  
"They should be up ahead somewhere," Vin said as they rode slowly down the mountain path; he was in the lead, keeping his hat pulled down low against the unforgiving sun.  
  
"I hope so," JD mumbled, one hand clutching his stomach. "Else I ain't gonna be in much shape to arrest anybody."  
  
"Least we won't have much trouble findin' our way back," Buck noted darkly, eying the pale young man with amused concern. "JD's done such a good job markin' the trail."  
  
"Please, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra groaned, as he held a finely trimmed handkerchief to his mouth, "I fear I will join Mr. Dunne if you do not cease with the sickening humor."  
  
"Look who's talkin'," Nathan replied sourly. "God, Ezra, did you HAVE to wear the green jacket today?"  
  
Ezra scowled at the healer, then glanced at his sleeve. He took a second look, then straightened and sighed loudly. "Why did none of you have the goodness to tell me that my jacket is inside-out?"  
  
"Thought maybe that was just some new trend we ain't heard about yet," Buck smiled. "You bein' so fashionable and all."  
  
The other men chuckled as Ezra glared painfully at Buck, whipped off the jacket and reversed it.  
  
"I assure you, sir," the gambler said with as much dignity as his suffering would allow, "most fashion trends are flattering to the wearer, rather than the opposite."  
  
Josiah smiled. "Ezra, you an' I gotta discuss vanity someday." He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. "After I drive away the demons currently livin' in my head."  
  
Chris had said nothing, had simply ridden behind Vin, trying to concentrate on their mission rather than the horrible churning in his gut or the sharp throbbing of his brain. He'd already decided not to kill Buck, determined instead to work out his pain on the robbers they were chasing. He knew he'd be all right as long as they didn't have to fire their–  
  
BANG!!!  
  
All seven men groaned loudly as the sound assaulted their sensitive ears. The bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock as small bits of stone and dust sprayed everywhere. They dismounted none too gracefully, looking around for their assailant and dreading the headaches they were all about to get.  
  
Two more shots rang out as they dove for cover; small puffs of smoke from an outcropping a bit up the road indicated that the thieves had taken shelter there.  
  
"They're behind those rocks!" Chris shouted as he squeezed off a shot, then gritted his teeth as the space behind his eyes throbbed. As the bullets flew he could see the other men firing and wincing as they quickly sought cover. Even if no one got hit, this was going to be one painful gunfight.  
  
"Oh, God," JD gulped as he and Buck leapt behind a large, craggy boulder. "I don't feel so good..."  
  
Buck eyed the boy between shots. "Well, point yourself in the other direction then, would ya, kid? I just washed these duds last month."  
  
JD nodded and turned away, only to encounter the horrified eyes of Ezra. The gambler gave the young man a warning look and backed away a few feet, aiming and firing all the while.  
  
"Sure hope you got a ton of that headache tea, Nathan," Josiah commented as he reloaded his gun. "Prayin' only goes so far in cases like this."  
  
"Can't say for sure, Josiah," the healer replied as he ducked out of the way of a large spray of splintered rock. "Checkin' supplies wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind this mornin'."  
  
The gunfire from the hillside ceased, followed by the sounds of horses galloping away. Chris rose from his position.  
  
"Sounds like they're movin' on," he said, holstering his gun. He hurried to his mount, trying to ignore his pounding head as he attempted to find the stirrup without actually opening his eyes to the dazzling sun. The other men followed him, grimly determined now to make whoever was responsible for this pay very dearly indeed.  
  
Nathan looked at JD as they were mounting up. "You ain't lookin' too good there, JD."  
  
The only reply was a queasy hiccup.  
  
They were soon underway, Vin doing his best to track with sore eyes and a splitting headache.  
  
"You know, Chris," he said quietly, cradling his sawed-off Winchester in one arm, "I once saw a buffalo take a man apart out of sheer ragin' fury. When we find these fellers I might just tempted to try that myself."  
  
They soon found themselves off of the trail, heading up into the rocky, untraveled parts of the mountain. The way soon became too steep and rocky for the horses, which were safely secured in a clearing while the men proceeded on foot, guns drawn, with Vin leading the way. As they neared the top of a rise, he ducked down close to the ground and glanced at Chris.  
  
"They're over that ridge," he whispered, priming his gun and squeezing his eyes shut as the noise echoed in his beer-sensitized ears. "Aw, shit, that smarts."  
  
Chris drew a breath and checked his gun. "OK, we'll try to get em to surrender peacefully."  
  
"Can't we beat em up just a little?" Buck asked from nearby. "I truly do feel like hittin' somebody."  
  
"Well now, Buck," Josiah said softly as he crouched down in the mountain grass and checked the chamber of his gun, "Chris might not be plannin' to kill you no more for puttin' on that party last night, but if it's a fight you want, I'm still game to have a go at you."  
  
Buck gave the former preacher a bleary glance. "No thanks, Josiah-I'd rather fight somebody who I got a fair chance of beatin'."  
  
They fell silent as they crept forward; once they topped the rise they could see a small clearing in the rocks a short distance below, where the hotel thieves had run into a dead end, their impromptu trail ending in a high, sheer cliff towering over their heads. The five men were dismounted and gathered in a group, discussing their next move, and had not noticed the seven hung-over men approaching them.  
  
Chris cocked his gun and looked at his men.  
  
"Boys," he said solemnly, "sorry I have to do this."  
  
He stood up and pointed his gun at the group below.  
  
"Don't move!" he shouted, startling the thieves and causing his men to grimace at the sound. The other six stood as well, aiming their guns at their quarry and preparing to descend.  
  
The thieves stared for a second; then one of them, a large well-dressed man whom Chris assumed was the leader, went for his gun. Chris saw it and straightened his stance, aiming straight for the man's head.  
  
"Mister," he said in his most deadly tone, "trust me, you don't want to fire that gun."  
  
The man's hand stayed on his weapon, his eyes twitching. Guns at the ready, the seven men carefully edged towards the prisoners.  
  
"That's it," Chris said as they got closer, "nice and quiet now. No loud noises..."  
  
As they got closer, the well-dressed man suddenly peered at the lawmen closely.  
  
"Hey," he said in surprise, "you're all drunk!"  
  
"Wrong, son," Buck admonished him as he came up alongside Chris, his gun glinting in the sun. "We WERE drunk. Now we're hung over, and in a pretty damn dangerous mood, too."  
  
"Yeah?" the thief replied, not looking at all convinced despite Chris's drilling stare. The other criminals also seemed to adopt a less than cautious attitude as their hands began creeping towards their weapons. "Well, you red-eyed sots don't look so dangerous to us."  
  
They were all standing together now in the rocky clearing, the cliff wall on one side and the sloping rise on the other. Tension filled the cold afternoon air as seven headaches became instantly worse.  
  
"Friend," Josiah rumbled as he and the other six slowly advanced, "you're just beggin' to be delivered to evil."  
  
"By you guys? Don't make me laugh," his opponent scoffed. "Shoulda known that hick town couldn't send anyone better after us than a bunch of drunks. Look at that kid!" he said, pointing to the pale and nauseated JD. "What'd he get soused on, his mama's milk?"  
  
JD appeared highly insulted and came forward, a bit unsteadily, his Colt Lightning held high.  
  
"You better take that back, mister!" he said in a tremulous but commanding tone.  
  
The thief, and his men, tensed as the well-dressed man laughed.  
  
"C'mere an' make me, Junior," he taunted.  
  
There was a pause; both groups waited, coiled to strike, JD and the leader standing less that three feet from each other. JD stared steadily at his opponent, eying his laughing, sarcastic face with mounting anger, until in one lightning move-  
  
-he bent over and became violently ill on the man's shoes.  
  
As the leader recoiled in extreme disgust, Chris and the others leapt forward, using the distraction to tackle and disarm the bandits. A terrific fight ensued, during which the sore and aching lawmen took their misery out on any target unlucky enough to come within arm's reach. While JD recovered, Chris went after the leader; the man managed to fire one shot before the black-clad gunslinger collared him and slammed him forcefully into the cliff wall, his green eyes blazing with pained fury.  
  
"Mister," Chris hissed as he wrenched the man's arm behind his back, "when a man with a killer hangover tells you not to do somethin', it's usually a good idea to listen to im."  
  
"Arrgh," was the only reply.  
  
"You OK, kid?" Buck asked as JD finally regained his breath. The young man nodded, trying to brush the thick black hair from his eyes.  
  
"Oh, yeah," he gasped. "Guess-uh, I guess the tension just got to me. But I feel fine now, I think it's all out of my system."  
  
"An' all over his shoes," Nathan observed with satisfaction as they finished tying up the prisoners.   
  
"The pants are a loss, too, I'm afraid," Ezra added, eying the well-tailored soiled finery with sadness.  
  
"When we get back to town you better let me give you somethin', just to settle your stomach, JD," Nathan continued.   
  
Buck shook his head. "There goes our secret weapon."  
  
  
The sun was almost to the horizon by the time the weary men rode back into town, the prisoners in tow. After the thieves were summarily locked up and the goods returned to the hotel, the hired guns walked slowly back to the saloon.   
  
The saloon was brightly lit and slightly crowded by the time the seven men came in. As they walked in JD looked at his hat still hanging in the chandelier and groaned.  
  
"How'm I gonna get it down?" he asked aloud.  
  
"Maybe Vin could shoot it down for ya," Buck offered, taking off his own hat and rubbing his burning eyes. Vin winced.  
  
"Don't think I'll be doin' any more shootin' today, Buck," the tracker replied as he massaged his forehead. "'Less I'm blowin' my own brains out."  
  
The barkeep looked up as Chris approached. "Ah! Mr. Larabee!"  
  
Chris nodded, wondering what he was going to order. The slightest thought of drinking anything alcoholic made him sick.  
  
But before he could speak, the bartender continued. "I've been asked to direct your attention, and that of your men, to the end of the bar."  
  
Puzzled, they all looked down the polished counter and saw a small row of seven Bloody Marys waiting.  
  
"Hotel owner wanted to show his gratitude for gettin' his stuff back," the bartender continued. "He thought you men might appreciate a little hangover remedy he's fond of, Bloody Marys with a raw egg in each one. Says it really helps."  
  
"Ah, sweet nectar," Ezra said, reaching for one of the glasses.  
  
"Now that's the kind of gratitude I like," Josiah said with relief as they all headed for the end of the bar. Chris nodded to the barkeep in thanks and joined his men as they headed off to a table to consume the concoction.  
  
"Sure hope this works," JD mumbled as he sipped cautiously at the drink.   
  
"I hope so too," Buck said, after gulping his portion down in one go.   
"'Cause I was thinkin', you know, we were havin' a real good time last night, an' if we ain't doin' nothin' tonight..."  
  
Chris then decided he'd probably have to kill Buck after all. When he recovered from the hangover, of course.  
  
THE END


End file.
